


What Do I Get?

by MysticalMaker



Category: Manic Street Preachers
Genre: Childhood Friends, Echo and The Bunnymen - Freeform, M/M, The Smiths - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:33:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28256232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MysticalMaker/pseuds/MysticalMaker
Summary: it's the 1980's & James works in a record store [pre-manics]
Relationships: James Dean Bradfield/Nicky Wire, James Dean Bradfield/Richey Edwards
Kudos: 4





	What Do I Get?

> ♫ I just want a lover like any other  
>  What do I get?  
>  I only want a friend who will stay to the end  
>  What do I get? ♫

On the street was a small corner store, with a flickering electric sign. The luminous neon glared through the window and lit up the display cabinet, only giving a hint as to what was inside. The interior of the store had warm shades of brown and burgundy, with a layering of dust. Golden warm light from the windows filtered through the rows of the store, where the racks of the 45’s & 78’s resided. The scent of plastic wrap and musky cardboard is beloved by all who enter, which can be shown by the heavily well-treaded carpet. 

James rolled up sleeves of his white t-shirt up to his shoulders, exposing his skin and his small arm tattoos. Bradfield had these boyish looks, with these warm lazy brown eyes. He was soft spoken, with a slight drawl of an accent. He grinned at his friend Nicky and scratched at the light fuzz around the edge of his jaw. 

In the other room, one of the store’s owners poked his head around the door. “Boys, for Christ's sake stop goofing off. You’re here to sell records! Now get on to it.” 

The store was owned by the Hall brothers. Just as he was leaving them to get work, the other twin brother muttered, “We hired these guys for three days a week and they just started showing up every day. So what’s stopping them?”

Nicky didn’t necessarily work there, but he loved to be a frequent visitor in the store. He often teased and made fun of his childhood friend, James. On one occasion, he came into the store with a messy array of flowers in the back of his pocket and demanded that James must play The Smiths. With the static popping sound, the record began to play and Nicky in full spirit pretended to be Morrissey and reenacted the performance from the ‘top of the pops’. This became a regular tradition and obsession of _the Wire._

Between shifts, they took a break; well a smoking break for James. Towards the late afternoon, they began to unpack the boxes of the new imports for tomorrow’s session. As him and Nicky were flicking through the racks of new LP’s, Sean appeared at the door, the bell signaling his presence. 

However, the bell jingled at the door a second time as another figure entered the store. Dark eyes and dark spiked up hair. He had an absolutely identical Ian McCulloch haircut. As he walked down the aisle and you’d see someone with tall hair and it wasn’t just sugar and water, it was with proper hair products. It was done properly. The attention to detail was scary and intimidating.

Sean and his friend were a year older than James. Growing up, they were both in the year above. Both of them were mature, intimidating, and superior in terms of their intellectual minds, and their looks. 

Sean moped around the store in his black parka with his hands in his pockets, slowly browsing the shelves, but of course not looking for anything in particular. That led to his pretty friend being on his own to wander around the store; he hadn't really been in here that often. James notices things like that, bloody hell, everyone knows everyone around here. But still, James couldn’t help but be captivated by him.

**. . .**

After a long day’s work, James returned. He lived in a crummy apartment. A single battered mattress occupied the floor, accompanied with a reading lamp, a stash of cheap worn books and piles of cassette tapes. Some of those tapes were small demos he had made, in hope of future pursuits of starting a band. However for now, he let those dreams fade & crack, along with the cracks on his wall. 

The apartment was barely holding itself together, but it was all that he could afford. It will do for now. Besides, _what’s a peevish young man gotta do to earn a living?_ The place was suitable for him and his needs and that was the end of that discussion. 

The only thing he took pride and joy over was his small stack of records, those of which he could find & afford. He loved the obscure indie tunes or ballads which he sometimes liked to learn the parts of with his guitar, only by hearing and note recognition. 

James distinctly remembers the first record be brought as a little lad. 'My Old Piano' by Diana Ross. He was given a lot of shit by his fellow village classmates, but who really gives a toss about them? Music was his only companion and that was the way he liked it to be. Enough of that, he needed to go out and squander for smokes. He had finished his last pack today, so fuck it. 

James pulled on his jacket and headed out the door. The cold night air will do him some good right about now. The city was where it was at. Before he left, he quickly grabbed his acoustic guitar along with him for the evening ahead.


End file.
